


Stirred

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Points of View, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By Nienna Calaquendi.Sam cooks, Frodo gets hot.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	Stirred

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: I acknowledge that someone other than myself holds the copyright to these characters. No profit has been made.  
>  Story Notes: Written in response to the drabble challenge on Frodo_Slash group. Each paragraph is a drabble--exactly 100 words.

Only for hobbits is the smell of bacon frying an aphrodisiac. By dawn's light he expertly tends three steaming pans at the hearth, murmuring words of approval, caressing their contents with spatula and spoon. Intimate it seems to me, and I envy the cookware for claiming his undivided attention, jealous that they've called him out of my bed. He didn't hear me enter the room, so I stand unnoticed (but not unstirred), watching. Soon he will be finished. I cross the floor in silent steps and seat myself where I will be the first thing he sees when he turns. 

I feel the weight of his eyes on me, tangible as a caress, as I set the table. Spoons, forks, napkins just so, my plate and his side by side. I turn. His slow smile makes me tingle. I reach for the teakettle but he stops me, lifting the heavy iron effortlessly and filling our mugs. I watch the way his thin shirt, tail hanging untucked, reveals the sculpted muscle of his back, the easy way he moves. Confident. He is the master here, not me. He waves me to my seat--and out of his way--as he serves. 

"Care for another muffin?" He passes the still-laden plate, followed by creamy butter and blackberry jam. He knows I can't resist. I manage to drop a gooey glob of jam onto the oak table. Our eyes meet. I scoop up the sweet mess with a finger and oh so slowly slide it into my mouth. His eyes never leave mine. I give him a wicked smile and his lips part, moist, wordless. Then I pick up his hand from where it lies curled on his knee, guiding it unresisting to the jam jar, and coat his finger in sticky purple. 

Although the jam is good, his finger is better. His eyes have drifted closed. Perhaps the heat of the kitchen accounts for his flushed face. Perhaps not. I circle and tease his fingertip with my tongue. He sighs when I finally release him, lowering his hand. I take up the jar again, straddling his lap. My nightshirt shifts up my thighs, leaving no doubt as to the effect breakfast is having on me. I dip my finger into the jam, then offer it to him. His mouth is hot, but I shiver. At last I have his complete, unwavering attention. 

-end-


End file.
